


Wicked Game

by yespolkadot_kitty



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot, Smut, loki is a miscreant, smut smut smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 13:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20639930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: Loki returns from battle injured and needs care. Will you tend to him?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Previously on Tumblr in 3 parts.

You opened the door to your chambers to find him there, weary, his eyes closed, that inky black hair spread out over the gold brocade of your pillowcase.

This was unusual, you thought, moving towards the bed. You and Loki normally sought each other out after battle-heavy trips to other worlds, but with warning. This was different. He habitually wanted to talk things through. You’d speak about the skills and moves you used when fighting, which weapons worked best.

You both loved to spar; you were each other’s equal.

You counted him among one of your closest friends. And if you wanted there to be more, well, then you kept that to yourself.

Although he had a reputation as a womaniser - many of the housemaids had reported hearing his name screamed from behind doors they’d passed on their cleaning rounds - he was ever the gentleman with you.

And that both pleased and  _ endlessly _ frustrated you.

“Loki?”

He opened one eye as you stood at the foot of the bed, and mumbled your name.

Concerned rather than amused now, you crawled up on to the high four poster. “Are you well?”

Now you could see that he was not.

Often times Loki used a glamour to cover his blue frost giant skin. That glamour could also cover any injuries he sustained in battle or by other means.

You tried  _ not _ to think about the ways he obtained various bite marks or scratches. It was none of your business.

Even if you wanted it to be.

A bruise marred his pale cheek, and a cut split one side of his lower lip. His doublet was torn, dirty, the side ripped open to show another angry bruise below his ribs.

“I have been better,” he groaned, not moving.

Your eyebrow quirked. “Is that so.”

A smile tugged at his lips, both eyes now open and regarding you lazily. You often wondered if he knew that his gaze was the equivalent of a thorough eye-fucking.

“Perhaps you should see what’s left of my opponent.”

God, he had some ego. But then, it was one of the things you liked about him. His confidence, his grace. His words often had bite but he was always honest with you, open.

Only, not honest enough to use you like he did some others of the Asgardian Court. Not honest enough to take you fast and hard, like you thought about when you were alone in bed, only the moon and stars as witnesses.

You sat back on your heels, letting your gaze track over him, waiting for some easy quip, some snarky words from his lips.

But none came.

“Why are you here?” you asked, genuinely curious. “You normally send someone to let me know you’re coming.”

“I wanted to be here,” he said simply.

You folded your arms over your chest. “I can’t help but think that there’s a joke coming.”

It was his turn to arch one fine black brow. “It’s like you know me, pet,” he rumbled, but started coughing on the last word.

The cough racked his long, lean body until you moved to help him, sitting him up, scooting to sit behind him, your back to the headboard, his back against your chest.

When the coughing fit ended, he huffed out a breath. “This is incredibly unbecoming.”

You snorted out a laugh. “And yet you still came.”

Loki relaxed against you, his eyes closing. “You were the one person I found I didn’t mind seeing me in such a state.”

His breathing evened out and you rolled your eyes at the situation. It was everything you’d dreamed of, but Loki had essentially come to you because you made him feel  _ safe. _

Ugh.

It was sweet, but hardly the x-rated scenarios you’d dreamed up after a few too many glasses of Asgardian punch of an evening.

You cast your eyes down to his form again, assessing his injuries. There was a dark stain further up his doublet. You’d do well to get that off and see if he was bleeding anywhere else. It wouldn’t do to let the crown prince die on your bed.

If he was, at all, capable of dying.

“Loki.”

He hummed low in his throat, but didn’t move. The battle - whichever planet it had waged on this time - had really done a number on him.

“I need to see where else you’re injured.”

He opened one eye again, closed it. “Far be it from me to stand in your way, pet.”

You frowned. “Don’t call me that. That word is reserved for your….. Playthings.”

“Well, you’d know something about that, if you’d ever deigned to be one,” he muttered drowsily, and you stopped cold in your act of unbuttoning his doublet.

“What?”

But he was either too exhausted or in too much pain to reply.

You laid him back on the bed, no small task given his height and muscular weight, and set to work slipping the buttons of his doublet through their tiny eyelets.

When at last you parted the thick leather fabric, you saw with some concern that blood had soaked some areas of his undershirt.

Moving quickly, you snagged a bowl, warm water and some clean, soft muslin cloths from your washing area. You soaked one cloth in the water and, finding no buttons, and not wanting to move him, ripped Loki’s undershirt in half, exposing his chest.

_ What a shame I don’t have time to enjoy this, _ you thought, cleaning the blood off his smooth, bare skin. You dipped the cloth until pink tinged the bowl of water, diligently cleaning and smoothing.

“I should fetch a healer,” you said, half to yourself.

Loki’s hand snapped up, his fingers circling your wrist. “Stay.”

You glanced at his face. He watched you through heavy lidded eyes, his pupils enlarged, ringed by forest green. 

“There was a lot of blood,” you said softly.

“And doubtless I will make more, in time.” He sounded bored; that was the Loki you knew. “However, this is…. Very pleasing.” He squeezed your wrist, giving gentle encouragement, and without thought you continued your cleansing of his skin, the washcloth moving over him in small circles. You reached the cuts on his hips. Some of them continued below his breeches, and you hesitated.

Your free hand on the ties to his belt, you looked up at his face. His gorgeous features were in repose, if you didn’t know him well, you’d suspect he really was hurt, weak.

The question was,  _ how weak? _

Was he just toying with you? Fancied a new pet for himself?

You tugged at the ties of his belt, making sure your knuckles brushed below it. Was it your imagination, or did his hips cant slightly forward at your touch?

“To properly assess your injuries, these will have to come off.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just more smut.

You definitely didn’t imagine the muscle that ticked in his jaw at your words. Then he merely inclined his head. “Far be it from me to question your healing methods.”

Oh, it was  _ on. _

The wretch stayed prone as you unlaced the belt, sliding the leather through the belt loops around his hips. He did assist you by arching off the bed slightly so you could remove the belt. You dropped it to the floor, where it lay, coiled on the rug like a snake.

Bold now that you were becoming more certain that Loki was  _ nowhere near _ as injured as you’d first suspected, you ran a finger under the hem of his breeches. He sucked a breath in.

_ Yeah. _ Neither was he was unaffected as he  _ seemed _ , his face in repose, looking for all the world as if he was just taking a leisurely nap.

His face might be schooled but his body gave him away.

You drew the pad of your finger over the buttons that tied his breeches shut, flicking quickly over the hardening ridge there that begged for attention.

His breath hitched, but he still didn’t look at you.

If that was how he wanted to play it.

“Do you need help?” you asked innocently.

He gazed at you through sleepy eyes. The picture of him prone and quite helpless stirred something low in your belly. “I find myself quite unable to move, Y/N.”

_ Miscreant. _ Obviously you dared not call a crown prince such out loud, even here in the sanctity of his chambers.

You let your eyes rove over him once more. He looked like sin come to life, all your dark fantasies wrought in skin and sinew, muscle and soft, pliable leather.

His hand on your wrist gently tugged. “I fear I may bleed out.”

You held back a snort.  _ Too far. _

He must have known it, because he dropped his hold on your wrist. You immediately missed the contact.

But it did give you two free hands.

“Can’t have the second in line to the throne dying on my watch,” you teased. “It’d rather spoil my reputation as a warrior and healer.” Before he could issue any retort, you opened the ties of his breeches. Your breath caught.

He was naked underneath. Unexpected.

You sneaked a look at his face. His eyes were closed, lashes thick and dark against high cheekbones. His chest rose and fell steadily. As he wasn’t looking at you, you felt bolder. His forest green eyes saw too much; now they were shut, you could look your fill and do your worst.

You’d be neglecting your duties if you didn’t tend to his cut hip first. You reached for the cloth, cleansing the shallow wounds. Loki hissed out a breath and you felt a twinge of sympathy - he  _ was _ injured, just not as greviously as he wanted you to believe.

That done, you took a pot of elderberry paste and smoothed it over the cleaned cuts. Once you’d done this, you could play.

Enjoying it, you took your time, circling your fingers and the paste over his wounded skin, the medicinal ointment a deep purple against the pale cream of Loki’s skin.

The sweet smell of elderberry filled the air, mingling with Loki’s natural scent of rosemary and cypress, overlaid with a hint of polished leather - he kept his armour and doublets well cleaned when they weren’t in use.

By the time you’d finished tending to him, your fingers skimming over his torso and hip bone, his unclothed cock strained against the loosened ties to his breeches.

“Oh dear.” You trailed your finger down one thick vein. “It seems there is another area of you experiencing… discomfort.”

His hips bucked ever so slightly.

“What shall I do. You’re obviously too weak to be moved. I’ll have to administer treatment here on the bed.”

“I bow to your superior knowledge,” Loki drawled, his lazy tone incongruous with his clearly, very aroused state. You had no idea how he did, it exercised that iron control.

And suddenly you burned to snap it.

You climbed over him, straddling his hips. He looked ready to eat, his chest bare between the edges of the undershirt you’d ripped, his black hair a raven’s wing against your gold pillow, his cape spread like an emerald river beneath his lithe form.

Sliding a hand down his chest, you placed your palm over his heart. It beat hard, another indicator that he wasn’t as remote as he’d have you think.

A smile curved your lips as you trailed your mouth down his body, one hand on his torso, holding him in place. You hovered your mouth over his erection for a moment, just breathing on his hardened flesh. Then you used your teeth to gently pull the laces free, until his cock stood proudly to full attention, curving against the flat of his belly.

You allowed yourself a moment to appreciate this before you took him into your mouth, lapping like a cat at a much-anticipated bowl of cream, learning the weight and the curve of him, the taste and scent.

His hips moved and you pressed your hand down, letting him know  _ you _ were in control now.

He stilled, and you could almost hear the cogs turning in his head. You smiled around his cock and flicked your tongue over where you’d learned he was most sensitive.

Loki did move then, fisting a hand in your hair as you continued to tease him.

“Seven hells,” he gritted out, and you glanced up at him. His eyes were shut, his breathing wild, coming in pants, his mouth slightly open. His belly muscles contracted under your hand as you sucked and licked, breathing him in. Committing his pants and sighs to memory in case this never happened between you again.

Loki gritted out your name. It was the only warning you got. In a hot second you were under him, his mouth ravishing yours as if you were a meal and he was a starving man. You let your hands sink into the pile of his raven hair as you kissed him back furiously, drinking him in. As he moved over you, you opened your legs, and through your dress you felt the weight of him settle where you needed him most.

“Say it,” he groaned against your mouth.

“No.” You weren’t one of his playthings, one of his pets. 

He drew back for a second, bracing himself on his arms, one hand either side of your head. His shirt and doublet gaped open. He looked half-wild, and it made you wetter.

The one word you never thought you’d hear from his lips caressed your ear.

“Please.”

You intended to reply with something snarky, like  _ it’s about time, _ but the naked word, filled with emotion and none of Loki’s usual snark or bravado, totally undid you. His eyes were desperate, wide pools of emerald green flecked with gold.

“Again,” you hissed out.

He arched a brow, surprise flickering over a face made for sin. “Please.”

Your intimate muscles clenched at the word in his voice of velvet and wine. You took pity on him, bunching up the heavy fabric of your dress and parting the opening of your drawers.

Loki moved back to look at the flesh you’d revealed, and you knew what he’d see - you were shiny wet, more ready for him than you’d been for any man.

“Like it when I beg, do, you kitten.” His voice draped like satin over the words, not a question.

“Yes.”

He brushed his lips over yours, and whispered, “ _ Please _ let me slide into your welcoming quim.  _ Please _ let me fill you.  _ Please _ let me worship your body with mine.  _ Please _ let me fuck your until we can’t breathe from it.”

“When you put it like that.” Your voice shook from the effort of trying to maintain some sort of distance. It was  _ far _ too late for that. Desire liquid in your veins, you cupped him intimately, sliding your fingers up his length and stroking twice, tightly, before setting him at the doorway to your body.

Wasting no time, he filled you with one swift thrust. You clamped around him, and he dropped his forehead to yours. “Seven  _ hells _ .”   
You wrapped your legs around his hips, holding him in place as he found a rhythm that suited you, rolling his pelvis in such a way that he brushed your clit, electrifying the tight clasp of nerves there.

Gasping his name, your internal muscles started to spasm as he eased one large hand under your hips, tilting you so you could take him in even deeper. He bottomed out, pleasure skating over his face as he doubled down his efforts to send you both spiralling to paradise.

His thrusting became sloppy, desperate as he bent his head to kiss you, nipping at your lips with tongue and teeth, then roughly claiming your mouth, dipping his tongue to dance with yours in time with each penetration.

The taste of him pushed you over that sweet cliff edge, the orgasm burning through you like a lit march. Your climax sparked Loki’s, and you swallowed his groan as he pistoned his hips into you, fucking you into the deep, soft mattress.

Eventually his coiled body relaxed from the little aftershocks of his orgasm, and you curled your arms around him as his weight settled on you, warm, comforting.

_ Comforting _ was never a word you’d thought to associate with him, but here you were. Here he was.

Together.

“I really thought you were very badly injured,” you murmured, drawing a lazy circle on his broad back through his doublet. You were both still half clothed, which made the whole thing even naughtier.

“Did you miss the part where I’m the God of Lies?” he breathed against your neck, his words tickling. “I  _ was _ hurt, sweeting. Just not as badly as I’d had you believe.”

You drank in the endearment, one you’d never heard pass his lips before. “Why? Why play that game?”

“Because whilst I might expect to live another few hundred years, I didn’t want to wait all that time for you to make your move.” He moved inside you, still half-hard, and you thought that it wouldn’t take much to ready him for round two. “Look at what we’d be missing.”

“Cheeky,” you admonished, even as you started pushing his breeches down his legs, palming his ass.

You could get used to this for the next, oh, five hundred years or so. With Loki, you certainly knew you’d never be bored.


End file.
